20. Growing Up
If someone were to ask me what I consider the most difficult aspect of aging, I would have to state that it is witnessing one’s parents grow frail. This is especially true if one’s parents don’t live nearby and visits are relegated mostly to holidays and special occasions. The changes are more obvious with each visit.
Weekly phone calls keep one in touch, but they really don’t keep one reminded of life’s realities. My Father has been confined to a wheel chair for several years now, so there has been a slow but constant deterioration of his physical health. He has had a few minor strokes, suffers from high blood pressure, diabetes and most recently, colon cancer. He began speaking about death five years ago. He says that he has had a good life and is ready to die, in fact, wishes to die. My Mother, his constant companion and care giver, refuses to let him go without a major battle.
They live with my sister, her husband and their three children. My recent week long visit with them left me with a desperate desire for quiet contemplation and solitude. I’m not quite sure why I am needing the solitude. I suppose I am feeling that I need to practice acceptance and to prepare for the inevitable.
I was the first born, my Father was 26 and my Mother was 21. We lived on a farm in Delta, Colorado. One of my fondest memories, around the age of five, is when my Father would sometime allow me to accompany him on his irrigation rounds after dinner, around sunset. He was so tall and his strides were so long that I had to run to keep up with him. While he did his work, I would pick the wild asparagus growing alongside the ditch banks. I fell into the water on more than a few occasions, but he never scolded me. Instead, he would simply pick me up and laugh, then carry me home. It was a bitter, rude awakening, at the age of six, when I entered the first grade and was told that I couldn’t be carried anymore.
One time, my Mother took my baby brother on an out-of-town visit to her sister. I was in school, so of course I had to remain home with my Father. I was upset that I couldn’t go. My Father took me shopping and bought me the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was purple with small yellow flowers; it had a skirt with three ruffled flounces, puffy sleeves, and a dark velvet collar with rhinestones. The material felt like silk to me. When I tried it on, I felt like a fairy princess. Afterwards, we had vanilla ice cream cones and he bought me my favorite comic book, "Wonder Woman." I didn’t care, anymore, that my brother got to go with my Mother.
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